The Star

When, in the house where stars can still be seen,
I wake not to the Sun but to the Star
Leading him closer by from East afar,
I can do nought that’s not too loud but clean.
I fill the sink, while at my iris’ edge
A mouse appears, climbs up inside the boards,
Across the counter comes and stares me down,
Returning, lastly, from the window ledge.
“SNAP!” The mouse trap strikes! The stricken mouse
Drags it over the tiles by one snapped leg,
And I must finish off the wounded game.
Awaken I my husband with the mouse.
I hand him over to the killing blow,
Which, to the growing Day, the Star proclaims.

Thank you for reading.

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